Undertow
by Nomme de Plume
Summary: Arya and her motley companions are swept up in events beyond their control. A/U, parallel story to The Good Brother. Ratings may change.
1. Chapter 1

If Arya had known this day would end with her clinging to a piece of driftwood somewhere in the Narrow Sea, she never would've gotten on board the _Lady Day_. She had been given an easy enough task - dispose of a certain merchant and make it clean and quick. Having been given all the necessary tools - charter on the _Lady Day_ and enough coin to make it back, Arya had lay in wait for the right opportunity. If she had been able to fool one man into biting a poisoned coin, she would be able to slip some nameless poison in to the stew of another.

Unfortunately for the crew and few passengers of the _Lady Day_, the gods had other plans for them. Shortly after hearing one of the crew point out a smudge on the horizon that was Cape Wrath, a storm unlike any Arya had ever experienced blew off the mainland. It made quick work of the ship, snapping masts like so many tooth picks and casting men screaming into the maelstrom. The ship had heaved to one side, and Arya felt the rain-soaked rails of the ship slip through her fingers.

The sea was icy cold and tossed her about like a toy, forcing the breath out of her lungs. She inhaled a large mouthful of saltwater and gagged, trying desperately to keep her head above water. In a blue-white flash of lightening, she spied a long, flat piece of wood - _maybe the door to the captain's quarters?_, she thought desperately. It didn't matter. The wood was floating, and she wouldn't be for much longer. Arya paddled against the enormous waves until she was able to grasp the edge of the wood. It was another matter to pull herself up on it, and after several unsuccessful attempts, she lay atop it, shivering, soaked, and willing to admit she was scared. She closed her eyes against the vicious spray and thought back to what Syrio had taught her a lifetime ago.

_Fear runs deeper than swords._

Arya's door swayed and tossed about on the tumultulous sea. She dug her fingers around the sides of the door and shifted her weight so she was on top of her precious Needle. She never travelled without it now, and as long as she had it, she knew who she was.

_Fear runs deeper than swords._

The screams of the ship's passengers started to fade now. Arya didn't know if it was because they were drowning and dying or if it was because she was being pulled further away from them. Truth be told, she didn't much care. She had enough air in her lungs to take a breath, and another and another. The crew and other passengers could bugger off for all she was concerned.

_Fear runs deeper than swords._

After what seemed like hours, the winds began to abate and a new sound reached her ears: the rush and roar of waves breaking. _I'm almost there,_ she thought. Her body was numb and she didn't think she could move if her life depended on it, but she forced herself to raise her head off the sodden wood. _You've ridden halfway across this bloody sea on a door and you're not going to be dashed on some coastal rocks like a half-witted crab!_

The sky above Arya was giving way to a slow, grey-green dawn. She could see where the sea and sky met now, and at their juncture was a bold dash jutting up from the water. Arya didn't know what land it was, but she knew she stood a better chance on that than she did where she was now. She willed her door to move across the waves faster, making a note in her mind to thank whatever gods she could get a hold of when she came to dry land.

By the time Arya felt her door scrape against pebbly sand, she knew what it felt like to be half-dead. She tried to climb off the wood, but her legs didn't obey and she wound up rolling off it like some drunk on a bar bench. The jolt of water brought her to her senses a tad, and she looked around at her new surroundings.

The beach she had landed on was small, not much more than a small cove. Tall rock walls rose on either side of it, and delicate waterfalls trickled down one of them, landing in the sea and causing a mist to rise. It glinted gold in the early morning light, making her head hurt. Directly ahead of her, the beach rose gently to a grass-covered meadow and beyond that, a forest. Arya took a step towards it and promptly vomited.

Her stomach now empty of seawater and anything else she may've had in it, she started with wobbly legs towards the forest. _I don't know what's in it, but maybe there's an inn - we were supposed to land somewhere between Rain House and Griffin's Roost. The first mate said something about a cove there the other day._ Arya had no doubt she was nowhere near House, Roost, or cove.

She was halfway across the small meadow when she heard the thundering of horses coming out of the woods. She grasped Needle's hilt and looked for someplace to hide - the grass wasn't tall enough to conceal her, and there was an annoying lack of bushes or shrubs. Not that it mattered much. The horses were coming far too fast and she was far too weak to put up much of a fight. She squinted and counted.  
>There were 3 horses; big, healthy animals with barding of cerise and cerulean. Their riders were likewise colored and before long they stopped in front of Arya. "Your name, girl?" One of them asked. He had a mailed hand resting on the hilt of a sword, but his voice was gentle. "We heard reports of a ship wrecking in the bay - were you on it?"<p>

Ignoring the question about her name, Arya decided honesty may be best played here. She nodded. "There was a storm. I don't think anyone else survived."

"No," the second rider agreed. "We had several bodies wash up not far from here." He extended a hand towards her. "Come, girl. We'll take you to the Hall and see you fed."

Arya eyed him suspiciously. She wasn't used to kindness anymore and half-expected one of the riders to cut her down where she stood. When they didn't, she grasped the proffered hand and was surprised at how easily he swung her up into his saddle. As the party wheeled about, she craned her neck to see this man's face. It wasn't ugly, she decided. And she had certainly seen some ugly faces in her time. "Where am I? What hall do we go to?"

"You've washed up on the shores of Tarth, girl. We ride to Evenfall Hall."


	2. Chapter 2

Arya closed her eyes as another bucket of warm water sluiced over her head and glowered at the servant who'd dumped it on her. She was reminded of Old Nan back at Winterfell.

"Don't look at me like that, young lady." The servant, a gnarled old shrimp of a woman, shook a finger at Arya. "You dragged half the ocean in to this hall in your hair alone and I'll not have you sit before Lord Selwyn looking like a barnacle scraped off the side of a ship."

"I do not look like anything scraped off of a ship!" Arya crossed her arms indignantly across her chest. The water in her tub was starting to grow cool as the servant pulled a comb through her hair, muttering to herself all the while. Arya continued to glower as best she could. Presently she was handed a robe. Climbing out of the tub, she wrapped it around herself. She had to admit, it felt good to have something soft against her skin. It had been a long while since she'd had such a creature comfort. The servant bade her sit on a stool before her and began plaiting her hair. Arya tried to jerk her head away. "I can do that myself."

"I know you can." The woman replied. Her tone was slightly gentler now and her fingers were surprisingly dextrous. "What's your name, child?"

Arya bit her lip, thinking back on all the names she'd given in the past. _Arry, Nan, Nymeria, Beth, No One, Weasel..._all cast off as easily as rotten clothes. She knew little of Lord Selwyn or of Tarth and its loyalties. Revealing herself as Arya Stark was too dangerous still. And anyway, she'd tried hard to discard that identity. _Easier to think it than actually do it._She realized the old woman was still waiting on a response and thought quickly. "Jeyne. Jeyne Hill." There. An anonymous name. A bastard's name. She should be able to hide behind it until she could get back to Braavos.

"Well, Jeyne Hill," the old woman said, tying the braid in Arya's hair with a leather strip. "Let's see about getting you some clothes."

"I have clothes." She pointed to the sodden, salt-crusted pile on the floor. The old woman clucked her tongue and started for the door.

"You stay there. I'm sure we still have some of Lady Brienne's things from when she was younger."  
>While she waited Arya stewed. She didn't want to be dressed up like some doll in rich fabrics and laces. That was Sansa's job. All she wanted was to go back to Braavos and get a new task, a new face. She wanted to disappear again. Being this close to Westeros made her uneasy. She pulled her braid over her shoulder and toyed with the end of it. Arya couldn't even pass as a boy anymore - while still rail-thin, her body had started to betray her and take on the ghost of a womanly form. It wasn't much yet, but soon it would be.<p>

The thick wooden door creaked open again and Arya straightened. The old woman bore no dresses or lace, but instead clothes that looked like they had been cut for a boy. "These may be a bit big for you, but they'll do. Now hurry up and get dressed. Lord Selwyn's waiting."

Presently Arya was led to the main hall of Evenhall. Lord Selwyn sat in a heavy, carved chair, reading several letters that had come for him. She could tell he was tall even when he sat, with silver-white hair and keen eyes. He looked her over, and gestured to a seat at a long, scarred table. Arya's tummy grumbled as food was set before her - boiled eggs, brown bread, and a curious fruit in the shape of a star. She bit into it tentatively and smiled when it tasted like a tart apple.

Lord Selwyn tented his fingers under his chin and watched her. "What were you doing on that ship, girl?"

"Assisting a maester returning from the Free Cities." The lie slipped out easily.

"You don't seem upset that he's likely dead?"

She shrugged. "I didn't much like him."

A smile jerked at the corners of Lord Selwyn's mouth. "Honesty. I'd forgotten what it sounded like. Where are you from?"

"Lannisport." It was the first name that came to her mind. There had to be plenty of bastards in Lannisport.

A flicker of amusement or surprise registered in his eyes. "We'll see to it you're returned to your family there."

"They're dead, my lord." For all Arya knew, that wasn't a lie. She'd not heard anything of Bran, Rickon, or Sansa since word of Joffrey's death broke and Jon was lost to her, commanding The Wall.  
>Before Lord Selwyn could respond, the door to the main hall swung open and Arya blinked at the flood of sunlight that accompanied it. Two figures entered and her bread stuck in her throat.<br>They were both tall, muscularly built, and blond but the similarities ended there. One moved awkwardly, shoulders slouched. The face was heavily scarred and ugly, and there was a faint mark around the neck. Arya realized with a jolt that this creature was a woman. _An aurochs of a woman, but a woman!_She wore a simple leather jerkin and breeches and was pulling gloves off thick, large hands. Sweat dotted her brow, and her straw-colored hair hung limply. She didn't notice Arya. Her attention was focused on the man at her side and as Arya watched, her swollen lips curved in what she supposed was a smile. Almost unable to tear her eyes away from her, Arya looked at her companion and nearly choked. The man was thinner than she remembered and older, but his was a cocky, self-confident face she'd never forget. It was Jaime Lannister.

Her hands clenched into fists underneath the table as she tried to keep her anger off her features.  
>Jaime's green eyes brushed over her fleetingly but she knew the second they did he recognized her. She prayed he wouldn't give her away.<p>

Lord Selwyn stood and approached the woman and Jaime. "How was your sparring?" he asked the woman, largely ignoring Jaime.

The woman shrugged. "I bested him. Again." She glanced at Arya, then back to her Lord Selwyn.  
>The man took the hint. "Brienne, Ser Jaime, this is Jeyne Hill. She was caught in the storm last night. Her ship wrecked and she drifted up on our shores." Brienne's large, surprisingly blue eyes turned to Arya again and she felt an intrinsic trust in her guileless gaze. Lord Selwyn continued, clapping a hand on Jaime's shoulder just a little too hard to be friendly. "It's a perfect coincidence, Ser. Jeyne is from Lannisport and will need an escort back."<p>

Arya leaped up. "No." Three sets of eyes turned to her, and she faltered. "I don't need him to escort me back. I can find my way."

Jaime laughed, the smug sound grating her nerves. "You can find your way? My dear _Jeyne_," he let the word hang in the air. "Are you blind or just stupid?"

Brienne shot him a sharp look. "Jaime-"

He held up a gloved hand and it twinged in the back of her mind that it was oddly stiff and curled slightly unnaturally. "The realm is at war and I can think of no fewer than four dozen people who would take a nubile little piece of bait like yourself and do unspeakable things, if you were alone."

"I don't need _you._" Arya shot back. "I can take care of myself. Ride at night. Hide during the day. I'm not stupid."

Lord Selwyn held up his hands. "Enough. _Enough._ It is too early in the day for such bickering. Ser Jaime, you will accompany Jeyne back to Lannisport. No doubt you have business there that can occupy your time." Arya sensed from the older man's tone and the way his eyes hardened that there was no affection between him and Jaime Lannister. She felt her breakfast start to congeal in her stomach. She couldn't ride across the continent with Jaime Lannister. She _couldn't._

"I - I can't go back to Lannisport." She spoke up. "I can just find a ship back to Braavos and-"

"Absolutely not." It was Jaime who responded, his face full of mirth now. "It's Lannisport you say you hail from, so it's to Lannisport I will return you. You'll have plenty of time to tell me the tale of how a simple peasant bastard girl found herself in a city like Braavos. I'm quite curious."

If there had been a way for Arya to kill him with the remnants of her breakfast, she would have.

_A/N I don't like blond men as a general rule (personal preference) but I. Love. Jaime. So hard. _


	3. Chapter 3

The sun arched high over the isle of Tarth, and Arya stood on a small balcony overlooking a muddied yard. An old, grizzled armsman was instructing several boys in fighting. She smirked. The boys looked several years older than her, but she knew she could best any of them in combat. They were either too gangly, too fat, too slow, or just plain stupid in how they fought. Her fingers twitched and she wished she could go fetch Needle and show them.

She heard footsteps approach, and whirled around. Jaime emerged from the darkness of the hall. She glared at him and turned back to the training below. He leaned his elbows on the railing and she had to force herself not to try and throw him over. "What do you want?" She finally asked.

"Just to enjoy the fresh air." Jaime flicked blond hair out of his eyes. "And to ask a question." When Arya didn't respond, he continued. "What happened that you wound up here?" Her eyes flicked to him, then away again. "I'm not going to tell Lord Selwyn your true identity, if that's what you're concerned about. I can't keep it from Brienne, though. She trusts me. Maybe too much. She's so full of her damned fool honor she'd probably put a saddle on her own back and let you ride her all the way to Winterfell."

"There's nothing wrong with honor." Arya spat. "You could try having a little of it now and then."

Jaime laughed again, a little quieter now. "Truth from the mouths of babes, no doubt."

Arya glanced at his hands. He still wore gloves, and one of them was still bent in an unnaturally stiff pose. "What's wrong with your hand?"

Jaime glanced down at it. "Just a little stiff, is all." He straightened and looked down at her. "I'm not taking you to Lannisport."

"Good, I told you I wouldn't-"

He held up a hand. "Hold on, I'm not finished. I'm not taking you to Lannisport, but I am taking you to King's Landing."

"You ass!"

"Shut it." He snapped, glancing around. "I have business there and it may be possible that you can help."

"I don't want to help you."

"Trust me, there's a world of people I'd rather turn to before you, but the gods have only seen fit to spit you at me."

"You want to take me back there to hand me over to the Queen." Arya was incensed. Did he really think her so stupid as to believe that? He may as well cut her throat here and now.

"I want to take you back there to help me save my nephew."

"Joffrey's already dead."

"Gods, you really are stupid. I'm well aware of the fact that Joffrey's dead. I meant Tommen. There are rumors of an army amassing in Dorne and if this army marches on the city, I fear he will be killed. If I can get him out of the city and to Casterly Rock he can be protected."

Arya thought back to the youngest prince was at Winterfell. She could hardly remember him; he was so benign and soft. _And he's King._ "What about the Queen?"

"Cersei? The Others take her. Half of this damned war is her fault. I'll leave whatever leads the Dornish army to deal with Cersei." As Arya looked up at him, she saw how his jaw clenched. _He's serious. He means to leave his sister to her death._

"I don't understand why you need my help."

"I'm hoping you can get into places in King's Landing I wouldn't be able to, or Brienne if she chooses to come. You've been largely forgotten, and none of the guards in the city now would recognize you."

Arya snorted. "I can make it so my own brothers wouldn't recognize me. And if I help you, what then?"

"If you can help me get Tommen safely to Casterly Rock, I will help you get to Winterfell, or wherever it is you want to go." Jaime said. There was no trace of irony or sarcasm or mirth in his voice.

_If I didn't know any better I would think he's being honest. _Arya had little doubt that as soon as they got the doughty blond boy out of King's Landing Jaime would forget this promise to her and leave her to whatever fate lay on the road but despite every ounce of sense in her, she felt her head start to nod. _No! No, you stupid…_But to go home to Winterfell, ruined as it may be…to see her family's name and honor restored. To see their bones at rest. She sighed heavily. "Fine. But so help me, if this winds up being some sort of jackass's jape I will peel the skin from your bones, make a saddle from it, and ride to Winterfell myself."

Jaime's eyebrows arched. "You're sure your name isn't Bolton?"

Arya scowled and strode off to her room.

Three days later Jaime, Arya, and Brienne sailed on a small merchant ship for Westeros. Lord Selwyn saw them off with a decided tightness in his face. Arya had heard him arguing with his headstrong daughter over her accompanying Jaime on their supposed quest for Lannisport. In fact, she was sure most of Evenfall Hall had heard them, but wisely said nothing. Arya stood on the ship's deck and watched the idyllic Isle of Tarth fade into the horizon behind them. It proved to be a brief trip, and less than two days later they were deposited on the shores of Westeros with supplies and mounts.

Before them, Arya could see craggy foothills to mountains she knew dominated the southern half of Westeros. They would not take that way; instead, the trio would take the road northwest past Bronzegate and through the dense trees of the Kingsroad. It was risky, Jaime admitted. The road was well-travelled and in these war-torn times it was impossible to know what sort of travelers they'd meet. But Jaime was confident enough in his and Brienne's fighting skills that he didn't seem outwardly concerned. He wagered they would be in King's Landing in a week, two if things went poorly.

He had no idea what they were riding into.

_A/N GAWD. This was hard to write for two reasons: 1) Dialogue is hard, and 2) my cat kept stepping on the power button to my computer _. Anyway, I get the feeling that I'm going to be told Arya's acting out of character and that she was swayed too easily to go with Jaime. Deal with it. And as always, thanks for reading!_

_A/N mark 2 - Sorry. I got a little snappy. Don't be surprised if I redo or change this one later. _


	4. Chapter 4

"Jaime." Brienne tried to steady her horse. The enormous grey gelding was skittish, his velvet ears flicking to and fro. His eyes were rolling.

"Hush." The Kingslayer whispered. "I know."

Arya knew too. She could hear them, the men in the woods. They'd been following the three of them for almost an hour now and while they may have thought they were being stealthy, Arya thought they didn't know the meaning of the word. They were moving through the brush quietly, but loud enough to be heard. Every so often, a branch would snap underfoot that didn't come from Brienne's mount, nor Jaime's stalwart blood bay stallion, or Arya's light-footed caramel filly. They seemed to communicate with bird whistles. It brought to mind her flight from King's Landing and the bloody night near Gods Eye when Yoren and so many others had died. _Hot Pie couldn't whistle, and his dog-barks were even worse._ She almost smiled and wondered whatever happened to Hot Pie or Gendry or the girl Weasel. _They're all dead, I bet. Hot Pie was too stupid to live, Gendry too thick-headed, and Weasel too young to last in the woods. You'd be better off leaving Jaime and the giantess behind you and making for the King's Road yourself. If Jaime's pretending not to notice them in hopes that they decide we're not worth the effort to kill us and rob our corpses he's stupider than he looks._ Yet, Arya knew that was exactly what he was doing. She glared at the back of his smarmy blond head in hopes she could drill her thoughts into it, but so far it didn't seem to be working.

There was another bird call and Arya could suddenly smell the men tracking them, a reek of too many unwashed bodies in too close a quarter. She rested her hand on Needle's hilt, hidden under her patched and worn cloak. She'd seen Brienne eye the slender blade several times in the days they'd been travelling, but the awkward blond woman never asked about it and Arya never offered any information.

There was a louder rustle to the left of the roughtrod path they rode, the slight creak of a crossbow drawing back. Arya saw Jamie turn his head slightly a split second before Brienne reached for her longsword. A fine spray of blood erupted from the side of his face and Brienne yelled, leaping off her mount and slashing towards the bushes, where several men were emerging. Her blade was parried with the handle of a harsh-looking battle axe and pushed aside. The axe blade swung at her head and as she dodged what would've been a fatal blow, Arya slid off her horse and drew Needle.

No sooner had her feet hit the ground than a wiry hand gripped her upper arm and jerked her back against an equally wiry body. The stench rolling off the man was breathtaking. "This isn't a place for your toys, boy."

Arya gritted her teeth. "Needle is not a toy. And I am not a boy!" With that, she drove her elbow hard into the man's solar plexus, at the same time stomping her foot on the fine-boned top of his foot. The man howled as the bones crunched. When he bent over to catch his breath, Arya wrenched her arm away, spun, and slammed her left hand into his nose, leading with Needle's hilt. She felt it break as the man howled again, blood gushing openly now. Using the heel of her right hand, she hit his shattered nose again and drove it into his skull. The man flopped to the ground and was still, blood bubbling from his face.

She heard Brienne yell again and turned. There were four others attacking her and Jaime. Arya crept behind the nearest one and speared Needle through the fleshyness of his lower back. When he yelled and turned to face her Brienne's blade made quick work of him, severing his own sword arm from his body. She raised her weapon to take his life when a harsh voice rang through the forest.

"_Stop_."

Arya looked past Brienne to the man who'd shouted. His barrel chest was heaving, blood sprayed across the torn leather shirt he wore. His face was ugly and pitted, snarling at them through the dim forest light. His fingers were entwined in Jaime's hair, a blood-crusted knife at his throat.

Jaime had seen better days. The arrow Arya heard earlier had slashed across his cheek, leaving a flap of skin dangling and half his face covered in blood. His sword lay some feet away, next to the body of one of their assailants. A third was looting the body, his eyes flicking from the dead man's corpse to where Brienne and Arya stood. Arya thought he looked like a rat.

Brienne lowered her sword still gripping it tightly, and held out an arm in front of Arya as if to prevent her from running to the Kingslayer's aide. _Fat chance,_ Arya thought. _It'll be a cold day in the Seventh Hell before I stick my neck out for him._

"Let him go." Brienne called, her voice husky with exertion.

"Fuck that." The man snarled, pressing the knife harder into Jaime's throat. "This is the Golden-Handed Kingslayer. The Dragon Queen's put a pretty bounty on this gilded head o' his, and I mean to collect it."

"You're under the impression my fair friend here will let you collect it." Jaime jutted his chin at Brienne. "I admit, she can be awfully bull-headed when she wants to be which is quite often but I'll admit, I'm fond of the big blond aurochs. Giantesses are awfully hard to find this far south of the Wall and I just don't have the time to find another one who's house-broken. It's a lot of work, getting her to listen to my commands." Brienne's full lips pressed together and she shifted her weight. Despite that, Arya got the distinct impression she was used to Jaime's japery. "Now, we're willing to come with you peacefully, assuming you take this knife away from my throat, and let you take us to the Dragon Queen. I promise, you'll get your money. Whatever the Queen has promised, I'll double. You know who I am. You know I'm good for it."

Arya's brows knit together. _He wants to go directly to the Queen? Did he forget that he murdered her father and that his house is pretty much responsible for the destruction of her family? Even Sansa would be smarter than this and she'd expect to stroll into The Twins and be fed lemon cakes and summerwine. _She looked up at Brienne and saw her blue eyes lock on Jaime's green ones. Something passed between them that Arya didn't quite grasp. It was the same kind of look she had seen pass between her parents, some sort of unspoken conversation that only adults seemed capable of. She knew better than to ask, at least now.

Brienne slowly slid her blade back in its sheath and shot a piercing glance down at Arya. Going against every ounce of her nature and good sense, Arya haltingly did the same.

_A/N Bianca - THANK YOU for the constructive criticism. I rush when I write. It's a bad habit and I know it shows through like red undies under white pants. Part of the reason I stuck Arya with Jaime and Brienne is that I'm hoping it'll force me to slow down and actually, y'know, think about where I want the plot to go instead of barreling through it. The Good Brother was fun and somewhat easier to write. This is fun, but it's a challenge. Kind of like algebra only without the mind-numbing hate I bear for complicated math word problems and postulates. So long story short, I'm trying to force myself to slow down. Anyway, Bianca and everyone else, thank you so much for reading and hanging in there during this. Hopefully with your input, I can improve._


	5. Chapter 5

Arya found that looking directly at the Dragon Queen was hard. It wasn't that she was ugly; she wasn't. In fact, she was one of the most striking people Arya had ever seen. Her long, white-blond hair flowed over tanned shoulders and her face held a regal, ageless look. Even though she sat on a pile of furs, Arya knew she would be petite, shorter than her, in fact. It was her eyes that Arya couldn't meet. Hard as steel and the color of a twilit sky, they were brimming with hate and animosity so strong it hit Arya like a slap in the face.

Daenerys had taken little notice of her or Brienne, however. Her gaze was fixed upon Jaime, and her fingers clenched the furs she sat upon. A deep flush rose on her cheeks, and her lips tightened. "Leave us." She said quietly to her guards, her eyes never leaving Jaime's.

"Your Grace-" one of the guards began.

"_Leave us._" She spat. "_Now._"

Once they were alone Daenerys rose gracefully, her spine ramrod straight. Even though she stood shorter than Arya, her presence filled the tent. The sounds of the camp outside faded away as she took a step towards Jaime. The knight didn't move, not even when when Daenerys reached up and slapped him with an open hand. The sound was harsh, and Arya saw Brienne's hand fly to the hilt of her sword by instinct. She laid her hand on Brienne's forearm and shook her head imperceptibly. She knew Brienne would never attack the Queen but she didn't want to give Daenerys reason to execute them.

The Queen's strike was true, and re-opened the gash on Jaime's cheek. Arya saw the muscles in his jaw bunch and felt a small twinge of satisfaction at his pain. "How _dare_ you show your face to me. To me!" she hissed. "I should nail you to the ground and let my dragons burn the skin off your bones."  
>"Your Grace-"<p>

"Silence." Daenerys growled, and Jaime obeyed. "Over three hundred years my ancestors held the Iron Throne and made Westeros and the world what it is today and you stab my father, your king, in the back! You murder him in front of the throne his forefathers forged! Why in all the seven hells would you come here? Tell me, Kingslayer, what could you possibly have to say to me?" She glared up at Jamie, her body taut with rage.

Arya glanced up at Brienne again, then back at the Queen and Jaime. If this was Jaime's plan all along, why had he brought her? Yes, she knew ways around King's Landing he may not have, but they weren't in King's Landing. The city was little more than a cesspool they could smell when the wind was right, but not yet see. _He doesn't have a plan,_ she realized. _He's going by the ass of his pants and he's going to get us all killed._

Jamie opened his mouth as if to say something, closed it again, and took a breath. "I have no excuse for what I did to King Aerys. I thought what I was doing was for the good of the realm."

Arya's eyebrows raised a fraction of an inch. Where had this humility and remorse come from? Jaime was a Lannister. All they knew how to do was prance around and toss their pretty golden heads. They never apologized, never admitted when they were wrong, and only took credit for something when it would benefit them.

"Why are you here?" the Queen asked again. "And do not lie to me, or try to be witty."

Arya watched Jaime's face carefully. He carefully arranged it into a neutral mask. "I'm here to ask for you to have mercy on the boy King Tommen."

For a moment Daenerys was quiet. "Why?"

"He's a child." Jaime responded. "Any wrongs that have been done to your family and your line are not his fault. Do what you will with the rest of my family, but spare him and spare Myrcella."

"How touching." The Queen's voice was icy. "Did Elia recieve mercy? Or Rhaenys, or Aegon?"  
>"Your Grace-"<p>

"Spare me." Daenerys turned away from Jaime. "You and your companions will accompany my army into King's Landing and when the city falls you will stand witness to your sister's that is complete, we will see to the fate of your nephew."

_A/N Ok so I know this is really short, but just bear with me. I was out of town over the weekend (again) and got sucker-punched by food poisoning so to say I'm out of commission at the moment would be an understatement. I just wanted to update mainly to get this chapter out of the way. Anyway, thanks for hanging in there, and thanks for reading._


	6. Chapter 6

Arya lay awake, the ground hard and cold under her. Even in the middle of the night, the Dragon Queen's camp was far from quiet. Voices murmured, fires crackled, and occasionally a spar would break out. Arya had briefly toyed with the idea of claiming her spirited filly and fleeing from the camp, but she knew that would only lead to death. There were too many soldiers who were far too loyal to Danerys to allow even the bastard handmaiden tagging along the Kingslayer and Maid of Tarth to escape. She rolled onto her side and watched Brienne and Jaime from barely-opened eyes. Brienne dipped a rag into a tin cup, wrung it out, and dabbed at the raw-looking gouge in his cheek. He hissed and his head jerked.

"Stop being such a baby." Brienne pressed the damp rag to his skin again. "I'm not going to sew it shut. Having it fester now would be a disaster."

"Thank the gods for that." Jamie grumbled. "The scar will be bad enough. You trying to stitch it would only make it worse."

"Your looks are fading anyway." Brienne replied. "The ladies at court will think you roguish now."  
>Jaime chuckled a little and raised his hand. His fingers traced over the horrid scar on Brienne's own face, one Arya didn't know the origins of. She and Brienne didn't ask each other many questions; it seemed easier that way. "At least this way we match."<p>

Arya made herself lay very still, keeping her eyes open just a slit. At Brienne's words something had flickered over Jaime's face that Arya was sure wasn't from the fire. The idea of court seemed outlandish here, mere miles from King's Landing on the eve of what would be the battle that changed Westeros. The talk she'd heard around the camp was that it wouldn't be much of a battle at all and that King's Landing was poised as a house of cards on the edge of a cliff. Arya was half-expecting to see white flags of surrender fly over the city come dawn. The prospect of a battle caused a funny knot to form in her stomach. It had been there since the Dragon Queen had dismissed them from her tent, placing them in her custody.

_Battle._ Arya had never actually seen one. Most of the fights she'd seen were just that - drunken brawls over a misinterpreted glance or misapprehended wench. Any death she'd come into contact with hadn't been glorious as it was supposed to be in battle. It had been quiet and had often left men without dignity. She thought briefly back to the Hound, nearly begging her for mercy as she left him at the Trident so long ago. _How long did it take him to die?_ She shifted under her blanket. _He didn't deserve a quick death. I hope he lingered._

Arya thought suddenly of another death years before, a quick whisper of breath through a rabid crowd that rang louder than any scream she'd ever heard. Even now, tears prickled at the back of her eyes and she fought the instinct to dash them away. _Every hurt is a lesson and every lesson makes you better._ She wasn't sure this kind of hurt was what Syrio had been referring to.

She tore her thoughts away and focused them on the present. Even if there was a battle the Queen wouldn't let her, Jaime, or Brienne fight in it. They would be held back, fettered if necessary, and put to some better use once the city had fallen. At least Jaime and Brienne would. Arya wouldn't be surprised if she were discarded or locked away in the city's Black Cells. She had no use here and she knew it.

Apparently Brienne did too. Arya saw her nod towards her. "What were you thinking, Jaime? Really?"  
>Jaime sighed and shook his head, looking defeated. "The girl was always getting into scrapes and fights at the Keep but she could always get out of them. Rumor has it she found dragon skulls that hadn't been seen in almost twenty years. I had hoped to use her knowledge and sneak Tommen out before the city falls."<p>

"And you thought you would do that by leading us straight into Daenerys's army?"  
>"I could've done it. If those damnable hunters hadn't-"<p>

"Jaime." Brienne's eyes were accusatory. "You heard those hunters for as long as I did, and Ar- Jeyne heard them for longer and you know it. We could've taken them easily if you'd just-"

"Brienne, please." Jaime sounded weary now. "I know what you're going to say and it's pointless to say it now."

Brienne fell silent as the night continued to pass, then spoke again. "What are we going to do with her, though? We can't go back to Daenerys and parade her around as an heir of Winterfell when the northerners are still screaming for a king or queen. There's no quicker way to get the girl's head on a spike, unless that was your plan all along."

"No." Jaime replied quickly. "No, I swore I wouldn't raise arms against her family again and taking her into a trap like that would be just the same." He paused and took a breath. "The Queen means to see my head next to my sister's. When that happens, I'm entrusting her to you. You are to take her home. Make sure no one knows who she is until you are safely north of the Neck."

"Jaime." His name fell heavily from her lips. "I...I can come back for you after she's safe."

"There won't be anything to come back for, Brienne. Not unless you want to see my bones back to Casterly Rock."

There was an odd snuffling noise and Arya heard Brienne clear her throat roughly. "If that...if that is what you wish me to do, then that is what I will do."

"Seven bleeding hells." Jaime's voice had a mix of amusement and affection. "You aren't going to cry, are you, wench?"

"At your death? Only tears of joy, Kingslayer." Brienne's tone was of one who was used to such japing.  
>Jaime laughed.<p>

* * *

><p>True to the murmurs around the camp, King's Landing fell within a day. Even before the brief siege, it was clear King's Landing was in ruins. As Arya, Brienne, and Jaime rode through the city, they saw how skeletal the few people who still lived there had become. <em>The entire city has become one big Flea Bottom.<em> Arya couldn't help but wrinkle her nose as the various stenches assaulted her. Over all the filth and human waste that had always perfumed the city there was now the smell of decaying bodies, illness, and fire. Thick smoke bled through the streets, choking them. She held her sleeve over her nose trying to block out the worst of the smell, but it proved ineffective. Glancing over at Brienne and Jaime through streaming eyes, she saw the same distaste on their faces. The ride to the Red Keep to take eons, but eventually they arrived at the looming, shattered keep.

A blood-red sun was setting on the ruined city as Arya watched Daenerys approach the Iron Throne, bathing the hall in smoky light of fire and blood. The young Queen climbed the steps leading to it and turned, looking over the thin, ragged remains of what had been a magnificent court. She straightened her shoulders and took a breath, any uncertainty fleeing her face. She suddenly looked regal to Arya, dressed in a red silk dress done in the Westerosi style. She turned to one of her guards and spoke. Her voice was soft, but the words carried even to the back of the hall. "Bring me Cersei Lannister."

_A/N OK! So. After spending the last week either laying on my couch wishing for death or stupidly going to work and wishing for death _and_ getting all my illnesses through 2014 out of the way, this is what I was able to come up with. I'm going to be honest - I didn't edit it much. At all, really. I'm just trying to get over this hump in the story. It's the Wednesdays of plot, if you will. Anyway, I hope I didn't lose anyone in the past week or so. Thank you for reading and reviewing, and for the love of God, wash your hands when you sneeze!_


	7. Chapter 7

To say that Cersei Lannister had seen better days would be an understatement. Her once-silky golden hair was limp and dull, resting shorn about her ears. Her face was gaunt and at the same time puffy, the skin having taken on a grey tone. Her eyes had lost their emerald sparkle and seemed dead and vacant. As she was led before Daenerys her steps were uneven and Arya wondered if she'd taken up drinking. She and her two companions were surrounded by the Queen's guards, and she heard Jamie's breath catch as his sister was led in. She and Brienne both glanced at him. Brienne's broad face reflected pity, but Arya refused to feel anything for him. _If Sansa or Bran or Rickon had done the things Cersei's done I would be the one to execute them. I'd wield the blade myself._ A small part of her admitted she wouldn't mind seeing Sansa up there, pleading for mercy with her big dumb doe eyes.

The fallen queen regent stood defiantly before Daenerys. The younger girl leaned forward on the Iron Throne, her silver brows knitting together slightly. "Cersei Lannister, you stand accused of numerous crimes against the throne of Westeros, including but not limited to kingslaying, conspiracy, treason, murder and incest. What do you say to these charges?"

Cersei straightened her shoulders and cast her gaze over the empty hall she once ruled before letting them settle on Jaime. Her dry lips twisted in a smug sneer Arya remembered all too well. "Anything I did or will do will be for the throne," Cersei's voice rang out as she stared at her brother, "and for the love of my family."

Arya had to remind herself not to laugh. _Look what the love of family has done to the kingdom. Daenerys ought to hang her for that alone._

Cersei's hands lingered at the waist of her dress, her spindly fingers twitching like a spider's. Arya felt a cold grip her stomach as Cersei suddenly lurched towards the throne. _She's going to kill the Queen._ Brienne's mannish hands closed on Arya's shoulders and pushed her behind her as Jaime rushed forward. He grasped the back of Cersei's dress and pulled her back towards him. She fought, but eventually found herself spun to face Jaime. He spoke to her, but his voice was quiet enough that Arya couldn't make out the words.

Whatever he said seemed to enrage Cersei, though. Her thin form reared back against his right arm, which stayed tight around her waist. The stump of his hand pressed into the small of her back, and she snarled. The blade of the stiletto flashed in the red sunlight as she started to bring it towards Jaime's chest. His fingers wrapped around her wrist and twisted, dragging the blade down. In their struggle Arya couldn't see what happened. Suddenly both figures slumped to the floor.

A hoarse sound escaped Brienne's throat and her hands fell away from Arya's shoulder. Jaime lay slumped over Cersei, blood pooling underneath their still forms. Brienne took a tentative step forward at the same time Jamie's shoulders rose and fell. He pushed himself awkwardly to his feet and stumbled back. The front of his tunic was covered in blood so dark it was almost black, and grasped in his left hand was a long, delicate stiletto. Pearls of red dripped down the blade, spattering on the floor as he tossed it away. His once-handsome face remained stonily blank as he stared down at the body of his sister. The slender stiletto had left little mark on Cersei's chest as Jaime had wrested it away from her, save for the blood. _There's always blood._ Arya thought. _No matter what._

"You murdered your sister." Daenerys's voice broke the silence and Arya remembered she was there. The Queen stood before her throne, surrounded by her guards. Her ageless face was pale with shock, her violet eyes standing out like jewels.

"She wanted to die." Jaime replied. "She wanted to take you with her, no doubt, but she had no plans to leave this room."

"You knew of this?" The accusation from the Queen's lips sounded foolish to Arya, and apparently to Daenerys as well, for her cheeks flushed pink even as she spoke.

Jamie lifted his head and gazed at her. "I did not, your Grace." His words were leaden and he suddenly looked weary, old. _Defeated,_ Arya realized. _He looks defeated. The Kingslayer is gone and the kinslayer is all that's left. _ "I could not have." The pool of blood crept slowly towards him and he took another halting step back. Brienne met him, her hand on his arm. "Your Grace, where is my- where is the boy Tommen?"

The light seemed to subtly shift as Daenerys took a hesitant step away from her guards. "Sleep. Eat. Grieve if you will. We will speak of Tommen tomorrow." She turned to one of her companions, a swarthy older man who bore a scar on his face. "Ser Jorah, see to it they are taken care of."

* * *

><p>Nearly a week passed before Daenerys called for them. None of them had been allowed to leave their small group of rooms, and Arya thought she might be going mad. She could hear the city trying to restart itself outside and she'd occasionally snatch bits of gossip out of the air. The Dragon Queen had made an alliance with the Iron Islands, who had sailed on both Bear Island to the North and Faircastle, Crakehall, and Lannisport to the south. The Greyjoys held a cold grip of the eastern coast and it seemed that with the strength of dragons behind them it would be a long, lean winter on the eastern shores.<p>

If Arya hadn't known of Theon Greyjoy's betrayal and sacking of Winterfell this development would've caught her off-guard. But after hearing of how he slaughtered the people he'd grown up with, two young boys who considered him a brother, surprise was buried under cold hatred. If she could shake Brienne once they got on the Kingsroad it would be easy to follow the Gold Road to Lannisport, and from there she'd be able to track down Theon and any other krakens out there.

That would have to wait, though. For now she was trapped in Daenerys's solar along with Jaime and Brienne. The petite queen sat across from them, one leg curled underneath her as she regarded them. For half an instant she looked amused.  
>"The three of you make a most motley crew. And believe me; I've seen some motley crews recently." She sipped at a goblet of honeyed wine and looked at them expectantly. Arya thought maybe she expected them to laugh. She remained silent, Brienne cast her blue eyes towards the floor, and Jaime's face remained stony. He had been dreaming about Cersei. She had heard the half-words he muttered in his sleep and had seen the way he tossed at night. Arya had also woken up several times to Jaime and Brienne talking softly. His voice sounded in turns strained and frantic and all Arya could pull from it were names - he spoke often of Tommen, Cersei, Myrcella. <em>Maybe he really does have a heart,<em> she remembered thinking. _He's lost just as much of his family as I have and the Queen is probably going to kill him. Maybe he's scared._ The thought was unsettling to her. Men of Westeros, even Lannisters, weren't supposed to be scared. They were supposed to stand tall and brave even in the face of death. That's what her father had done. That's what she would do when her time came.

Next to her Jaime spoke and startled her back to the present. "Your Grace, you told me we could speak of Tommen."

Daenerys pressed her lips together. "You'd be wise not to rush me, Ser Jaime. While I'm not unaware of the fact that you saved my life at the cost of your own sister's, I am equally aware of the fact that you are, and always will be, a Kingslayer. That alone is worthy of you joining your sister in the afterlife, along with your father." She hesitated and drew a piece of parchment towards her. _That's it, _Arya thought. _That's his death warrant._ _He won't see the sunset._

The Queen continued. "You have asked that the boy Tommen be placed into your hands. Under most circumstances I may consider it. However, these are not most circumstances." She folded her hands and gazed at Jaime levelly. "You will never see Tommen again, or Myrcella for that matter. You must understand why I cannot let you to plant any ideas in their minds that would lead them to think that either of them have any claim to this throne. Even now the boy is miles away."

Jaime's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "I do not suppose you would tell me where he's gone."  
>Daenerys laughed at this. "As far as Westeros is concerned he is on his way to Dorne. It really is for his own safety, Jaime. The Lannister name, and all those attached with it, are just as unpopular as the Freys. If no one knows where he is, no harm can come to him."<p>

"How do I know he is alive?" Jaime's tone held barely contained rage. Arya thought there was very little keeping him from leaping across the table between them and throttling the girl.

"Unfortunately you don't, and there isn't anything I can do to prove he is. Not yet, at least. When he arrives at where it is he is going, he shall send a raven to Riverrun."

"Riverrun?"

"It is where you will be for the rest for your natural days. According to the Lord Paramount, you had a hand in him being sent to a life of servitude to your house. Seeing as how your house is now in ruins, he asked that you return the favor."

"A life of servitude?" Jaime seemed incredulous.

"To House Tully, yes. It really shouldn't be too big a stretch from your service in the Kingsguard. You'll hold no lands, no titles, command no army. You will do as Lord Tully commands, from this day until the end of your natural life. Unless, of course, you'd rather the end of your natural life came today…?"

"And what of my companions?" Jaime asked tightly.

"Yes, your companions." Daenerys leaned back and looked thoughtfully first at Arya. "Who are you, child?"

She swallowed. "Jeyne Hill. From Lannisport. I was in a shipwreck and wound up on Tarth. Ser Jaime and the Lady Brienne were taking me back to Lannisport. Am I to go to Riverrun as well?" _Uncle Edmure is there. He can see me to Winterfell._

"No. Ser Jaime will accompany you and the lady to Clegane Hall. From there, the Lady Brienne, I'm sure, will want to return home while the Lord of the keep will sees you to Lannisport. Lord Edmure will meet you there and will make sure Ser Jaime gets to Riverrun without further incident." She smiled, her teeth white and even. "Bear in mind, Kingslayer, that should you try and deviate even one iota from this plan, Tommen will die and he will know it was by your hand. Once he dies you will find a Black Cell with your name on it, and the world will never hear of you again."

Jaime was trapped and they all knew it. He shifted uneasily in his seat. Running his hand through his hair, he sighed. "Fine." The word was barely audible.

"Your Grace," Brienne spoke up, her voice hoarse. "Must I return to Tarth?"

Daenerys sighed. "I know of you, Maid of Tarth. If half the stories are true you have more honor in your small finger than the Lannisters do in their entire line. You will do what is right."

"You said Lord Edmure will meet us at Clegane Hall?" Arya was feeling ill. She hadn't forgotten the horrors she'd seen the Mountain dole out, not by a long shot. "You know Lord Clegane is a-a monster."

Daenerys raised a hand. "I think you'll find the face of Clegane Hall is somewhat changed as of late."

* * *

><p><em>AN Writer's block is the pits. _


	8. Chapter 8

The unlikely trio left before dawn the next morning. Arya was eager to put King's Landing behind her. It seemed pure luck that no one had recognized her, and that the Queen hadn't so much as breathed a word of Winterfell, the fallen Starks, or even the North. If they'd lingered there any longer Arya thought she might have gone mad from sheer paranoia.

They rode hard and fast the first day, Jaime keeping his horse going fast enough that as the afternoon collapsed into twilight Brienne scolded him that he was going to kill the steed if he kept it up.  
>He'd tossed a teasing grin over his shoulder. "I'm not worried. If that happens I'll just put the saddle on you and ride you the rest of the way."<p>

A deep flush rose on Brienne's cheeks as she flicked her reins, irritated. "What you dream about doing to me is between you and your conscience."

Jaime laughed, but Arya noticed he did slow his mount after that. She didn't understand the strange relationship between Jaime and Brienne. Jaime seemed to enjoy teasing or mocking her, but as far as Arya could see, Brienne never seemed annoyed. If anything, Arya thought she enjoyed his japings. _It doesn't matter where I go or who I stay with - I'll never fully be able to understand anyone, _she mused. _Maybe knowledge comes with age. I'm two-and-ten though, and don't feel any wiser than I did at nine some days._ That wasn't entirely true, she reasoned. She was wiser in the ways of life and death, in the delicate moves of a Water Dancer, in how to see using more than just her eyes. She chewed on her lower lip. _Knowledge coming with age is shit._ There. That seemed much more likely. _I have more knowledge at two-and-ten than King Robert did by the time he died._

By the time they stopped the first night Arya's legs ached. She wasn't used to riding so long, and they had gone straight for nearly ten hours. Jaime paced restlessly around the abandoned barn they were using as shelter, occasionally glancing outside. "We're no more than a hundred miles out of King's Landing."

"Sit down." Brienne replied from the ground, where she was doling out small rations of bread and cheese. "The Queen isn't going to change her mind, haul you back to King's Landing and behead you."  
>He whirled. "You don't know that. If you actually trust what she says you may very well be as dense as your reputation says." He ran his hand through his hair. "Even if we make it to Clegane Hall uninterrupted what are we supposed to do with her once we get there?" He jabbed his stiff hand at Arya.<p>

Arya chewed on a piece of bread. "Let me pick up the Gold Road. I'll take it back to the King's Road and then North. I don't need either of you to act as a nanny for me."

"Seven Hells." Jaime swore. "There's no one in a day's travel of here more intelligent than this post." He slammed the heel of his hand into the offending post and resumed his pacing. "You won't last a day alone on the King's Road. I don't care where you've been or what you think you know what to do with that little butter knife of yours. You are still a child, a girl at that. The last thing I need is for you to get sold into a pleasure house of Lys and have my name get dragged into it somehow. And don't deny you'd do it. I have no doubt you'd scream my name to them the second you could." Arya mutely ate another bite of bread. This was fun, seeing the usually charming and debonair Kingslayer coming unstrung.

"For the gods' sake, Jaime, sit down." Brienne snapped. "When we get to Clegane Hall, I'll explain what happened and I'll write a letter to the Queen detailing it. There won't be a fleet of men waiting to crown her Queen of the North. She will more than likely demand that Arya swear her fealty, which I'm sure won't raise any problems." Brienne slid her sapphire gaze to Arya. "Will it." Her tone left little room for debate.

Jaime stared at Brienne as if seeing her for the first time. "You can write?"

"Shut it." Brienne threw a heel of bread at him, which he caught deftly. "You heard Daenerys yourself - I've got more honor in my little finger than your entire line does."

"I don't want to be Queen of the North." Arya spoke up. "I've lost my entire family to this stupid war. Why would I want to declare myself Queen of the North and make it last even longer?"

"See?" Brienne chewed on a bit of cheese and Arya was reminded unpleasantly of a cow working its cud. Jaime glared one last time and finally sat, leaning his back against a post.

They were silent for a short while, and the thought of once again being in the company of Gregor Clegane twisted Arya's stomach. What if he recognized her? What if he decided he wanted to keep her? She knew what he did to women, girls, anything he could get his hands on really. Even though they were both highly capable fighters, she didn't know if Brienne and Jaime could keep him at bay. She sighed and pulled her cloak tighter around herself.

"You're afraid of something." Brienne was staring at her with those uncanny blue eyes.

Arya shifted uncomfortably away from the stable door. It was hanging half off its hinges and the opening looked like a gaping mouth to the black night outside. "It's the Mountain."

Jaime looked up. "You're worried about Gregor Clegane?" At Arya's nod, he smirked. "Understandable. He's a bit of a fearsome tosser, isn't he. I wouldn't worry too much about him. Your dear Queen said there'd been a change in the Clegane household. Perhaps his equally charming brother has unseated him."

"The Hound?" Brienne snorted. "He's dead, Jaime. I saw his grave."

"Death doesn't mean as much lately as it used to. You know that." Jaime nodded to a thin, faint scar on Brienne's neck Arya hadn't noticed before. Brienne looked away as Jaime continued. "Either way, if the Mountain is waiting for us we will make things brief. He is still sworn to obey the Lannisters and as far as I know, that still includes me. He should not lay a hand on you unless I tell him to."

_He really is stupid._ Arya had seen Gregor Clegane at work. He rarely listened to anyone unless there was a way he could benefit from it. If he wanted, none of them would live. _And the Hound did die._ Arya felt a small, unexpected twinge of regret. For how poorly they'd gotten on, she supposed he had saved her life near the Red Wedding. _For whatever good it did. All he did was drag me halfway around Westeros on the back of that damned beast of his and tie me up every time I tried to get away._ If Sandor Clegane truly was dead, Arya refused to spend any more time thinking on him. If there was one thing she'd learned since leaving Winterfell it was that no matter how long or how hard she thought on her dead, it never brought them back.

Outside one of the horses whinnied, and a branch snapped. In a heartbeat Brienne was on her feet and drawing her blade. Jaime was close to follow. They stood on either side of the open door while Arya scrambled off to the side.

"Stay here." Jaime mouthed to Arya. He gestured to Brienne, and she nodded curtly. Moving as one, they ducked outside. She heard swords being drawn, and a muffled voice yelling. After a short bit of scuffling, Brienne and Jaime stalked back into the barn, the latter dragging a third figure with him. It scrambled to its feet and when Arya saw his face she felt as though she'd been punched in the stomach.

The boy scrabbled back away from Jaime's still-drawn blade, his blue eyes flicking back towards Brienne. "M-m'lady?" He stammered. "I - you remember-at the Inn at the Crossroads-"

"Yes." Brienne placed her hand on Jaime's arm and gently pushed the sword out of the way. She stooped and offered the dark-haired youth a hand up. "I remember you, Gendry."

Arya found her voice. "What in the seven Hells are you doing here?"

Gendry's eyes focused on Arya. His mouth worked wordlessly for a moment. "_Arry?_"

"Now that we're all acquainted," Jaime was pacing again. "Were you being followed? How did you find us?" He glanced at Arya, his green gaze keen. "And what in the seven Hells _are_ you doing here?"

"No one, m'lord, and I wasn't looking for you." Gendry sat up. "This was the closest thing I could find to an inn. I'm heading for King's Landing and from there, with any luck, across the Narrow Sea."

"What about the Brotherhood you were with?" Brienne asked. "Where are they?"

Gendry shook his dark head. "I don't know, m'lady, and I don't care to. The Lady Stoneheart, she's-" His eyes flicked back to Arya, and he trailed off.

"What?" She replied. Her stomach was starting to twist again "Who's Lady Stoneheart?" Brienne and Jaime had become awfully quiet as well. "_What?_ Stop looking at me like that and tell me what's wrong!"


	9. Chapter 9

Arya stared at Gendry. "You're lying." Gods but she hated the waver in her voice. It smacked of weakness and fear. She swallowed and tried again. "You're _lying!_"

"He's not." Brienne spoke quietly. "She gave me this," Her thick fingers gestured to the scar around her neck. "trying to hang me."

Arya knew she should feel something, anything. But she remained on the floor of an abandoned barn, staring up at Jaime, Brienne, and Gendry. _Stupid, the lot of them. They're mistaken, they _have_ to be. My mother is dead and even if she weren't she wouldn't hang someone._ She shook her head. "It's not her. Why would she try to hang _you?_" She jutted her chin at Brienne.

The older woman sighed and knelt across from Arya. "Before she died I swore to your mother I would find you and your sister. When that..." Brienne swallowed and looked away and Arya saw she had the common grace to look ashamed. "When Lady Stoneheart found me, she still had your mother's memories. She took my failure as a betrayal and wanted revenge. She takes every slight as betrayal now, and will kill any who cross her path." She looked at Gendry. "If you've abandoned the Brotherhood you're in more danger than any of us."

Before Gendry could respond Jaime snorted. "And you've brought it to us."  
>"I wasn't followed!" Gendry bit back. "How stupid do you think I am?"<p>

"Shut up, both of you!" Arya snapped. "I don't know who Lady Stoneheart is but I am telling you this: she is not my mother! She is not Catelyn Stark!"

"Arya, you know what became of your mother's remains, don't you?" Brienne asked after a moment. When Arya nodded, she continued. "Lady Stoneheart has a wound in her throat, a deep one. She cannot speak without covering it. Her flesh is like that of one drowned. Her hair is torn away-"

"Stop it!" Arya leaped to her feet, her hand automatically flying to her hip for Needle. What Brienne was describing was too similar to a dream she'd had near the Trident so long ago; too similar by half. For a heartbeat she was back huddled on the cold ground while Sandor Clegane awkwardly tried to break news she already knew and then she was back in the barn with three sets of annoyingly sympathetic eyes gazing at her. "Please. Just stop." She heard defeat in her own voice and hated it. She pulled her cloak tighter around her as she again took a seat on the ground and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes for a moment for no other reason than to stop the burning welling up in them.

A hand fell softly on her shoulder and she shrugged it off, not caring who it belonged to. "Arry, listen to me." Gendry crouched next to her. "I know what you're thinking, and you can't. Not yet."

She glared at him. "And what am I thinking?"  
>"You want to find her and prove us wrong." Gendry's piercing blue eyes never left hers and she cursed inwardly. For someone so thick-skulled he was deceivingly perceptive. "You have to trust me, Arry. Don't go looking for her."<p>

Arya nodded mutely, already knowing she would. She could awaken before any of them come dawn and sneak out before they so much as stirred. Jaime was still concerned with reaching Clegane Hall in a timely manner so the Queen wouldn't dispose of his doughty nephew, and she doubted he would waste time looking for her. Even if he did, she knew how to hide and throw off her trackers. Arya Stark had disappeared before, and there was nothing stopping her from doing it again.

* * *

><p>Hours later Arya slept restlessly. She was dreaming and unaware of the tears trickling down her cheeks. In her dream she was standing next to the Trident, alone this time. The water bubbled and frothed around her bare ankles, numbing her feet. She wrapped her arms around herself and gazed into the flowing water, knowing she was looking for something but unsure as of what.<p>

A cold, moist hand seized her upper arm and wrenched her around, forcing a hoarse cry from her throat. The spectre that stood before her made Arya's insides turn to water. Her mother's eyes were clouded over, pale as a winter sky. The skin on her face hung in ribbons and in some places she could see yellowing bone underneath. Her throat was torn open just as Brienne had said and just as she'd seen before but this time was so much worse. The blood that still clung there was black and congealed, shining wetly. Arya scrabbled at the claw-like hand still gripping her arm. When the skin tore away in chunks she screamed, the sound bursting forth from her throat in a bloody wound. Over the sound of her own screams she heard a deep, hoarse rattling noise that reminded her of wind pulling at barren trees. With a cold jolt she realized her mother was speaking. Any air in her lungs was rushing out of the wound in her throat, bringing with it the sickly sweet smell of death, one Arya'd never gotten used to. Her stomach roiled as she jerked her arm, trying to pry it out of her mother's grasp. A second hand, just as cold and clammy, forced her chin up. Arya's screams froze in her throat as her eyes locked with the corpse that had once been Catelyn Stark. Her cracked, bleeding lips were moving.

_Arya..._

"No!" She tried to turn her head away but the cold fingers held her chin firmly in place.

_Arya..._

"Let _go_ of me!" She struck out at the figure.

"Arya, wake up, we have to go!" Stronger, thicker hands shook her shoulders roughly and she blinked awake. "There's a fire!"

She sat up and pushed Gendry away from her. "But I just-..." The words died on her lips as she realized what he'd said was true. The barn was burning around them. Red-yellow flames licked at the beams above them, and the smell of burning hay and wood rose hot in Arya's lungs. She covered her mouth and nose and stumbled to her feet. "How?"

"I don't know." Jaime yelled across the barn as he struggled with the door. Arya didn't remember anyone closing it. "Something's barring it from the outside."

Brienne pushed Jaime aside and slammed her shoulder into the wood once, twice. On the third time it splintered and she tumbled out into the wintry night. Jaime, Gendry, and Arya were quick to follow.  
>"Oh..." Gendry's voice was roughened by the smoke. Arya tried to follow his stunned gaze, but her eyes were streaming. She rubbed at them roughly and tried again. Her stomach both seized and plummeted at the same time. There were roughly a dozen horses, all looking blown and half-starved, and astride them sat roughly a dozen cloaked figures clutching lit torches. The flames bathed them in a harsh red light, but Gendry moved in front of Arya quickly, blocking her from view.<p>

A cold wind blew towards them and brought the same sickly-sweet stench that haunted Arya's dream. A hoarse groaning whisper reached her ears and she had to bite back a cry. The rider to the left of her mother spoke.

"Lady Stoneheart demands that you, Ser Gendry Waters, do give up yourself to our judgement for abandoning your sworn brotherhood." His voice was oily and he paused while the Lady Stoneheart whispered again. The rider gestured to his companions, who immediately dismounted and moved to take Jaime, Brienne, and Gendry captive. "She also sends you her greetings, Lady Brienne." The oil in his voice flowed into mirth and sarcasm. Arya wanted to kick his teeth down his throat but she didn't move. Not yet. The man continued. "She again gives you a choice: take up your sword and slay the Kingslayer, or hang beside him as a betrayer."

Brienne placed her hand on her sword's hilt. "My answer then remains the same. He is not the person he was. He is not responsible for your son's death or yours."

Lady Stoneheart rasped again and Arya shivered and drew herself up. She stepped out from behind Gendry. "Mother, stop this." Heads snapped around towards her. The winter wind blew the stench of death towards her again, and Arya fought to keep from gagging. "Please. Lady Brienne and Ser Jaime are trying to help - they're taking me to Riverrun, to Uncle Edmure."

Lady Stoneheart's hand rose, pulled the hood away from her face, and then wrapped slender fingers around her throat. "Arya..."

Fighting off the cold feeling her nightmare had left her, Arya nodded. "Let us go, Mother. Please."  
>There was another rasp, and her mother's companion spoke. "She bids you come with us instead, Arya. Seek revenge on the Freys, and Boltons, and Lannisters. Do what the so-called Maid of Tarth cannot. Slay the Kingslayer, his whore, and the bastard betrayer and ride with us."<br>Arya glanced up at Brienne, Jaime, and Gendry. Jaime's green eyes lanced her in the night, and he lifted his chin in an arrogant way that seemed ingrained in him. As much as she detested him, Arya knew in her heart of hearts she wouldn't be able to kill him. _Not now,_ she reasoned. _Not at the command of Lady Stoneheart. If I'm going to kill him it will be under no one's command but my own._ Her gaze flicked to Brienne and Gendry and she thought she saw the latter wink quickly, no more than a twitch. She bit back a smile and turned back to Lady Stoneheart.

"No." She jutted her chin out, unconsciously mirroring Jaime. "I will not kill them."

Lady Stoneheart hissed, and her riders dismounted their horses in one move. "Then you will suffer their fate."

Arya drew Needle, the small blade glinting in the starlight. She heard the scrape of blades being pulled on every side of her, and she steeled herself.

She would never be sure who exactly struck first, but she knew she was suddenly aware of the clash of blade on blade, and the raging storm it brought inside of her. She lunged forward, trying to recall every lesson Syrio had given her, everything she'd learned at the House of Black and White. She shed off the face of Arya Stark and became a water dancer.

Her blade was neither as long or as heavy as her opponent's, but that didn't bother her. Speed was her friend now, and her blade flashed and slid through weaknesses in his fighting style. Soon his cloak and leathers were spotted with blood, and his blows were slowing. She wasted little time the first time he faltered and drove her blade through his throat. He'd barely had time to collapse to the ground when cold skeletal fingers grasped her arm and wrenched her around. She stared into the dead eyes of her mother and was Arya again. Lady Stoneheart's face was inches from hers.

"You have chosen poorly, my daughter."

* * *

><p><em>AN - Learned a very valuable lesson today - don't try to write whilst listening to a chatroom reading of Ramsay Bolton's letter from ADWD done in a valley girl voice. Don't ask. Just accept that it'll throw off your writing juju._


	10. Chapter 10

"My Lady." Brienne's voice sounded through the red haze of Arya's terror. "My Lady, you cannot harm her."

Lady Stoneheart's dead eyes latched onto Brienne and Arya noticed how still the small clearing had become. Save for the still-burning barn, there was no other motion, no sound. Stoneheart's companions lay dead on the ground, their blood dying the snow black in the moonlight.

Brienne grasped the hilt of her sword and moved cautiously towards Arya and what was left of her mother. "I swore to protect your daughters if I found them and if that includes protecting them from you, then so be it."

Arya felt the fingers release from her arm slowly. Lady Stoneheart took a lurching step towards Brienne, croaking hoarsely. Arya couldn't hear the words, but she saw Brienne's face blanch and her jaw tighten, making the gnawed-looking scar on her cheek jump. She took a step away from the corpse and glanced towards Jaime. In the space of a heartbeat Lady Stoneheart lunged.

In life, Catelyn Tully had been neither abnormally tall, nor strong, but in death she'd acquired inhuman speed and strength. Her fingers dug into Brienne's throat.

Arya leapt at her mother, squeezing her eyes shut as she wrapped her arms around the brittle figure's waist. She threw her slight weight against it and heard the muffled pop of bones as she stumbled. Her fingers scrabbled again for Needle's keeping her eyes clenched tight, Arya drove her blade upward.

And missed.

Her eyes flew open, full of rage as the back of her tunic was jerked. She fell heavily into the snow as Jaime swung his blade inches over her head. The blade bit into Lady Stoneheart's side and the second time, it took off her head. Jaime watched where it landed before turning back to Arya. His gaze was grim as he sheathed his sword. "You don't need the mark of a kinslayer." He turned his attention back to Brienne, gripping her shoulder almost tenderly. "Are you hurt?"

Brienne shook her head, staring at the still corpse at her feet. "No." She rubbed the red welts rising on her throat and turned out of his grasp, pulling Arya to her feet. "It had to be done." She said to the girl. "You know that."

Arya looked at her silently. She knew taking her mother's head was the only way to ensure her true death now. Catelyn's head lay several yards away, the skin at the neck ragged and fluttering like old parchment. The blood was thick and jellied, the muscles grey and decaying. She felt her gorge rising and she swallowed thickly. "Can we bury her?" She asked quietly. "We can't leave her like this."  
>"The ground is frozen, Arry." Gendry replied quietly. "And we have nothing to dig with. The most we can do is make a cairn from the stones, or burn-"<p>

"No." Arya spoke softly, but sharply. "I'm not going to burn her. We'll build a cairn."

It took the better part of an hour for them to gather enough stones, and another hour to place them around Catelyn's remains. Arya busied herself with the work, carefully stacking one stone on the other. _When you were young,_ she remembered, _you and Bran would build little towns out of the stones at Winterfell. He would always build the town and you would always build the castle. Sometimes he would make little roads out of sticks and try to make little people too, and you use to knock them down. He'd cry sometimes but he always laughed in the end. Remember the best one you ever built? The castle came up to your knees, and Bran had built a little stable and blacksmith and food storage...it stood for a week before Rickon knocked it over._ Arya allowed herself a brief smile as the last stones were put into place. _These aren't Winterfell's stones, Mother, but they will be your shelter._ She placed her hand over the rock that covered Catelyn's face, the curve of it fitting perfectly into the palm of her hand. _They will keep you safe now where I couldn't. Be with Father now, and with Robb, Bran Rickon, and Sansa if they've gone. Be with Jon and love him in death as you couldn't in life. I will see you soon, but not today._ Despite herself, Arya's smile grew. _Not today._

She stood and brushed snow off her knees. The silver moon sliced down on her mother's grave and the smoldering remains of the barn. The shadows from her companions were long and still as they waited near the horses. She straightened her shoulders and strode over, mounting her filly without a word. Nudging her heels into the horse's side, she glanced at Jaime, Brienne, and Gendry.

"We're going."

* * *

><p>The slow trek across the Reach and the Westerlands was largely quiet. The land looked drastically different than it had when Arya first rode south from Winterfell. Where once there had been crops and smallfolk tending them, there was nothing now. Bare, empty fields with a gauze of snow and frost over them stretched horizon to horizon with only the occasional leafeless tree to break up the monotony.<p>

It was 4 days of hard, frozen riding before the farmlands were overtaken by rocky foothills and mountains. Sparse copses of trees clumped closer together and the narrow road they were on grew rough enough that Jaime finally was forced to slow their speed. They were deep in the mountains, somewhere near Silverhill, Jaime had said. The higher they rode into the mountains, the harsher the cold became. It had rained briefly once, the drops freezing quickly into ice pellets that left Arya wishing the Cleganes had taken up residence in Dorne.

"We'll be there within a day or two." He said one night. The four of them were huddled under a rock outcropping, trying to keep a meager fire going despite the fat snowflakes that had started falling just after sunset. "We'll have to." Brienne stared dourly at the snow. "Or else we won't get there at all."

"We shouldn't even be going there." Gendry jabbed the end of his sword into the hard ground. "This is a mistake, Lannister, and you know it."

"I don't recall forcing you to join us." Jaime snapped.

"I'm here for Arry!"

"I don't recall _her_ forcing you to join us either."

Arya had had enough. "Shut up, both of you! I don't want to go to Clegane Hall at all, much less with any of you!"  
>Gendry turned to her, his blue eyes pleading. "I told you, leave with me. We can make Winterfell-"<p>

Jaime snorted. "You'll die before you reach the Neck."

"- and you'll be able to take back the North-"

Arya's fist slammed into Gendry's jaw of its own accord and before she realized it she had knocked him on his back, kneeling astride his chest with her fists curled in his cloak. "Don't you even _breathe_ that thought again, do you understand? My entire family is either dead or scattered to the wind because of some half-cocked idea that Robb could free the North." Even speaking her older brother's name brought a sharp jab to Arya's chest, and she released Gendry's cloak. "You stupid."

Behind her Jaime chuckled. "Those are the most words you've strung together since the Queen gave us the royal 'Fuck you'."

Arya glared at him and slid off Gendry's chest, drawing her knees up to her own. Taking back Winterfell could prove hard enough but Arya would be damned if she was going to bring more war and death on the lands she grew up in.

* * *

><p>Despite Jaime's prediction it would take no more than 2 days to reach the southern foothills of the Westerland mountains, it took closer to 4, and each of them snowier than the last. Finally, Arya saw the dark hulk of Clegane Hall rising out of the snow. If it weren't for the faint flicker of torches visible between the sheets of white falling, Arya would've thought it abandoned. <em>If only.<em> She pulled her cloak tighter around herself. _If only._

"I still say this was a mistake."

"Shut it, Gendry." This time it was Jaime that spoke. He dug his heels into his mount's sides, and started plodding through the snow, Brienne at his side. Gendry glanced at Arya and shrugged. "We've been through worse, Arry." He offered her a weak smile.

Despite herself, Arya returned the smile and urged her horse forward.


	11. Chapter 11

A stablehand trotted out to meet the 4 weary riders. Jaime swung down and handed the boy his reins. "We're expected by Lord Clegane, I believe."

The stablehand bobbed his scraggly head, keeping his eyes on the ground. "Aye, m'lord."

"Ser Jaime." A low, sonorous voice sounded from behind them, and Arya turned. A tall, slender man in dark robes seemed to appear out of the twilight. His face was sorrowful; deep wrinkles made his skin drape from his frame. A fringe of grey hair blew in the harsh wind as he stepped closer. "We received a raven from the Queen shortly before the arrival of my master and his wife." The word seemed to come from the old man's mouth hesitantly, and Arya got the distinct feeling it left a bitter taste in his mouth.  
>Jaime glanced at Brienne, his lips twisting upward in a slight grin. "He's taken a wife? That's surprising, given his..."<p>

"Reputation." The man cleared his throat. "Forgive me for keeping you in this treacherous cold for so long. I am Maester Tulwyn. My Master and his wife are waiting for you." Tulwyn offered his arm to Brienne, who stared at it as if it she was expecting it to eat her. After a moment, he retracted his arm.  
>"Who'd he marry?" Arya asked. The maester blinked in surprise as if he hadn't seen her, but before he could answer Jaime shot her a glare before guiding the Maester towards the keep.<p>

"Maester, the Lady Tarth will need access to a raven. I know we were expected several days ago, and it's imperative we get word to Her Grace that we haven't lost our way."

Maester Tulwyn nodded and started droning on to Jaime, and Arya immediately lost interest. She walked several steps behind Jaime and Brienne, studying the keep. She hadn't been sure what to expect, but she was reminded uncomfortably of the Twins. The keep consisted of two towers, equal in height and built of the same dark grey-black stone. A long archway connected them, the bridge and roof covered in old slabs of shale. The windows were by and large dark, with a faint light showing in a few. The keep was in a sorry state of disrepair, several large stones laying in chunks round the base of the towers. Some shattered shale was littered about, and Arya tried to ignore the dark stains on some of the pieces. They looked entirely too much like blood and she didn't want to think about how they'd gotten there.

The stables were long and low, built from field stones pulled from the rolling hills surrounding the keep. Attached to them were what Arya could only assume were kennels. An occasional deep baying could be heard from inside. _The kennels. Through it all they still kept the dogs._ Arya had heard tales of starvation and famine occuring during this war and others, and wondered fleetingly what they'd fed the dogs if they couldn't even feed the people.

_Not that there _are_ many people._ Where Winterfell had a fairly bustling winter town, this keep had a small scattering of huts, mud-and-stone walls and rush roofs. Pathetic curls of smoke were torn from the clay chimneys and wisped away by the winter winds. _What is it like, living in the Mountain's shadow? How many has he killed here? _Arya shivered. Having even the briefest time with Gregor Clegane made her sure she didn't want to know.

Gendry gave a sharp tug on her cloak and she stopped just short of walking straight into Brienne's broad back. Maester Tulwyn was pulling the thick keep door open, struggling a little in the wind. "You're a thousand miles away," Gendry said as he ushered her in. "Are you alright?"

Arya looked at him levelly. "Don't be stupid."

"I'm not being stupid, A- Jeyne." Gendry glanced at the Maester.

She glared at him again and took in the inside of the keep. It was little less grim than the outside, if not warmer. The very air was quiet and dark, and the few servants that moved around the small front hall did so keeping their eyes on the ground, silent as shadows. Torchlight flickered over shattered remnants of furniture piled unceremoniously in corners.

Arya and Gendry lingered behind Jaime and Brienne and when Tulwyn led them into the Great Hall and introduced Jaime and Brienne, she nearly froze. The Mountain would recognize her. She knew it. He would recognize her and having a hundred Jaimes and Briennes between her and him would not stop him from wringing her neck like a chicken. She could still run - she was faster than her companions and any one of them had at least a hundred pounds and five hands on her.

As if reading her thoughts Gendry put a large, thick hand on her back. It spanned from one shoulder blade to the next. She could feel the warmth radiating off it even through her layers of clothing and for a moment wavered between hating him for holding her back and wanting to hug him out of thanks.  
>The next moment Jaime was laughing. The sound was curious in the dark hall, unnatural. But it was there, boiling up from somewhere in his torso and forcing its way out of his throat in a rough, rusty sound. "I'll be damned." He was saying. "First my esteemed brother gains Casterly Rock, and now we ride across the entire bloody continent to see you and his lady wife setting up house."<p>

"Kingslayer." The responding voice rang across the hall and smacked Arya like the clapper from a sept bell. It wasn't the guttural sound she'd heard from the Mountain. It was hoarser, rougher.

_Stop thinking up ways to kill me. It won't do you a bit of good._

Arya shifted and looked between Brienne and Jaime. Three figures sat upon a small dias at the front of the room. The first was the Hound. Arya couldn't explain the small leap her stomach gave at seeing him alive. He looked, dare she think, amused at seeing Jaime looking as bedraggled and worn as he did.  
>If Arya's stomach had jumped at seeing him alive, she was surprised she wasn't choking on it when she took in the woman sitting to his right. "Sansa?"<p>

Her sister's clear blue eyes widened and she half-stood. "Arya!" Sansa blinked rapidly and Arya was dumbfounded. Sansa was actually tearing up at seeing her little sister. _She's never been happy to see me. When we were young she told me a group of Wildings sold me to Mother and Father for slave labor._  
>Sansa tripped lightly off the dias and ran towards her sister and before Arya knew what was happening Sansa's arms were wrapped around her. "They told me you were dead." Sansa whispered.<p>

Arya didn't know what to do. She couldn't remember her sister ever touching her in an affectionate way, and she'd often thought that if she were to die Sansa would dance under the moon in joy. She glared over Sansa's shoulder at the Hound, who seemed vastly amused by the goings on in his hall. Arya pulled away from Sansa's hug and looked up at her. She seemed thinner than when Arya had last seen her, and older at the same time. Her hair was no longer done in the ornate and, in Arya's opinion, ugly styles of King's Landing but instead was pulled back in a simple braid. The dress she wore was simpler as well, a plain yellow gown trimmed with grey. "Sansa, what are you doing here?"

"They're married." An irate voice sounded from the dias and the third figure stepped down. Arya knew at once it was her Uncle Edmure. He had the same auburn hair and piercing blue eyes that her mother and Sansa had. Those eyes now glowered from Sandor to Sansa. "The Queen married them."

"She can't." Brienne spoke up. "Sansa's married to Jaime's brother. She can't just write off their marriage like that."

"You'll find that, being the queen, she can." Something in Sandor's tone suggested this was a conversation he'd had several times since Edmure had arrived, and one that he was tired of. "Lord Tully can't quite seem to grasp that fact."

"It was bad enough the girl was married to the Imp in the first place," Edmure spun and faced Sandor. He wasn't a small man, but he was still dwarfed by Sandor. "And come to find out she's married to Joffrey's mutt-"

"Uncle!" Sansa's arms dropped from around Arya. "Please, I've told you, I wanted it. No one forced me into this marriage like the last one."

Arya stared, still trying to wrap her mind around what her uncle had said. "You _married_ him? You...you live here now?" Something about the dismal, broken down keep didn't reconcile what Arya knew Sansa to be like - her sister had always wanted the huge castle, innumerable servants, and grandiose balls every other night. Not this crumbling ruin.

Sansa squared her shoulders. "I do. And," she turned, her voice ringing through the room. "We will have no more discussion over the tragedy of my marriage to a man I love!" Sansa whirled, her eyes sharp and keen as an autumn sky. "Now sit, and we will eat." Gathering her skirts, she strode back towards the head table.

Gendry stared, mouth slightly agape. "Seven hells." he murmured to Arya. "We've not been here five minutes and already I want to leave."

* * *

><p><em>AN - Waarrbgarglbll. I wish I had the slightest idea how to end this. Or where to go with it. The plot fairies have deserted me. Woe._


	12. Chapter 12

That night Arya couldn't sleep. Dinner had been a terse, quiet affair underscored by the unsettling tender glance Sandor and her sister. She supposed it could be sweet, if it wasn't so nauseatingly unnatural. The last she'd seen of Sandor, he'd been nearly damning her for withholding a merciful death from him. The last she'd seen of her sister, she'd been screaming and fainting mere feet away from where their father lay dead. Two such vastly different images didn't mesh in her head. Not in the slightest.

Sansa _couldn't_ have married the Hound. She was a Stark, a daughter of the Lord of the North, and he was a baseborn murdering Lannister beast. Arya flipped on her other side, trying to get comfortable. _Damn her and her true knight swill. He's not a knight, true or otherwise. _Sansa had always been the one to sigh with moist eyes over those stupid songs of ladies giving their favors to their stupid lovers and now she had bunged it all up following a fantasy. This wouldn't do.

Arya climbed out of bed and padded silently down one of the quiet, dark halls. This deep in the keep, the howling winds outside couldn't even be heard. She wrapped her arms around herself and turned a corner. Light spilled out of a partially-open door, and she heard low voices pressed her back against the stone wall and crept closer until she could peer in. A fireplace large enough for Arya to walk into took up most of the far wall. The room was sparsely furnished, with naught but a large, heavily scarred table and chairs around it. The table was covered in old ledgers and piles of parchment. They reminded Arya of the ancient books her father used to review when he would keep track of Winterfell's finances.

Sandor sat at the head of the table, leafing through one of the ledgers. Sansa leaned on the arm of the chair, resting her cheek against his dark hair. Arya couldn't hear what they said to each other. He slid an arm around her narrow waist and pulled her onto his lap, his other hand resting on her stomach. Sansa's face lit up with a smile that was reflected in her husband's smaller grin. _She's pregnant._ Arya realized with an instinctive jolt. _She's going to give him a child._ There was nothing pointing to it save the Hound's caress over her stomach, but it was enough.

Watching them, Arya wondered if her mother and father had ever shared such a soft, secret moment. Her father had been away at war the first year of their marriage, but still. Maybe her mother's auburn head had rested on her father's dark one and they'd wondered what future their children would have. Sansa cupped Sandor's face and drew it closer for a kiss, and Arya turned away. Whatever future their child held, she hoped it was better than the one Arya, Sansa, and their brothers received.

Arya padded quietly into the heart of the keep, following a rumble in her belly. After some wandering, she found the kitchen and in it, her uncle. He sat at a long wooden table with a flagon of ale and some bread in front of him, idly twisting a dagger into the dark wood. He barely glanced at Arya. "Sit, girl. You hardly ate before." His tone melancholy, he pushed the loaf of bread towards her. "Gods know you should eat while you can."

Arya approached the table slowly and sat, taking the bread. "Thank you." she mumbled.  
>"Look at me, child." Edmure's voice softened as he tipped Arya's face into the firelight. His blue eyes searched it, and Arya felt scrutinized. After a moment his hand fell away. "You have the look of your father." There was a certain sadness in his voice. "He was a good man, Arya. I hope you know that." Arya's throat seemed to close, and she could only nod. "He spoke the truth and it got him killed. Him and your mother and so many others."<p>

"It was Joffrey that got him killed." Arya spat back bitterly. "Joffrey and Cersei and all the rest."

"Yes." Edmure responded. "And they're burning in the deepest layer of the deepest of the hells for it."

"I should've been the one to put them there."

"Hush, girl. You're too young for such hate."

"No I'm not!" Arya leaped to her feet. "If anyone deserved to kill them it was me! Or Sansa, or our brothers!"

"You're right." Edmure gazed at her. "But you have to know by now that what you want isn't always what you get. Surely, somewhere in all those stupid stories I know your mother told you when you were small, you had to know that sometimes they would have a bad ending, and that no matter what you did, or what you said, you couldn't change the mind of the person who made it up in the first place." He leaned forward. "If I had my druthers, do you honestly think I'd be taking Jaime Lannister, of all people, to my home? To be anywhere near my wife and child?"

Arya didn't answer for a long while. "What are you going to do with him?"

"Jaime? Gods be arsed if I know. He'll never see the Westernlands again, nor King's Landing. I'll find some use for him." Edmure toyed with his mug of ale. "I don't know what I'm going to do about your sister, either."

"What do you mean?" Arya was instantly wary.

"This fool's dealing of a marriage. Your sister...everyone knows who she is. Sansa Stark, the great Northern martyr. She is the figurehead on the shipwreck that is the Starks, Arya. There's not a man north of the Neck save a Bolton or two who'd lay down their lives to see her in Winterfell again, wed to one of their own. But now..." Edmure sighed and pushed his mug aside. "It'll just take a little longer."

"Uncle..."

"If the Queen can write off one marriage, she can do it again."

"Uncle," Arya tried again, not believing she was about to say what she was. "I think Sansa loves the H- Sandor. She won't leave." She said nothing of her sister's pregnancy. It would only be pouring oil on a threatening fire.

"Love," Edmure chuckled. "Child, who do you know who marries solely for love?"

"My mother and father loved each other."

"Aye, after a while, but not at first. Your mother lost his brother and getting Ned as a replacement wounded her deeply, She didn't love him in the ten days they had before he left to fight that fat fool Robert's war. Nor did she love him when he came back with your bastard brother a babe in arms. They may've found love by the time the rest of you pups came along but trust me, Arya, it was not the root of their marriage. It's best this nonsense with Clegane ends now before either of them starts acting even more foolish."

"Do you not love your wife?" The girl was a Frey. The mere thought of the name dredged up a horrid feeling in her tummy. The bruises left on her arm from her mother's dead grip had not faded, nor had the sound of her dry, creaking rasp of a voice or the sick-sweet smell rolling off the walking corpse. Underneath that was the one memory Arya would give almost anything to erase - the Red Wedding. All thanks to those thrice-damned sharp blow Sandor had given her with an axe - _The blunt side,_ he reminded her later, turned out to be the one thing that saved her life. _I never thanked him._ Arya shook her head, sending the memories scattering back to the dark corners they'd taken up in her mind. Edmure's eyes had turned icy, a look that Arya had seen often in her mother's and Sansa's gaze. "Do not ask me about my wife." He sat back in his chair, fiddling with his dagger again and offering a small, wry smile. "Also do not ask what I intend to do you with you. By all accounts you've been dead for years."

* * *

><p><em>AN Oh slightly-drunk Edmure. You're my favorite. Also, before people start saying that heeey, Rickon's already supposed to be in Winterfell, how can Sansa take it back? Just relax. Calm yourself. Have some tea and an English muffin. I didn't forget what I wrote._


	13. Chapter 13

The snow continued through the next day, and the one after that, and the one after that, and for three more days after.

"They say we're in for ten years of this." Gendry leaned against a stone window frame with a dour expression on his face. He crossed his arms across his chest and sighed. "Ten damned years."

Arya chewed on her lip. "Maybe they're wrong." The idea of spending any longer than a month at this comparatively small, run-down keep was daunting in itself, but when she thought about the fact that her only companions other than Gendry were her sister, her brooding husband, and Jaime and Brienne, Arya wanted to leap from the window.

She pressed her palm against the cold, warped glass and pulled it away, studying the deceptively small print left behind in the frost. _Ten years._

Gendry grinned. "You'll have hands rougher than me someday, Arry. No man'll want to marry you if you keep snagging your calluses on silks and satins." He ruffled her hair, and Arya felt a painful jab somewhere above her stomach. Jon had done that once upon a time and how she missed him now. If only she'd made it to the Wall with Yoren. Gendry swiped his sleeve across the glass, obliterating his huge print and her small one. "I'm going to see if I can convince Brienne to let me have a go at her and that sword. Want to come?"

Arya grinned but shook her head. "She'll rightly beat your arse."

"And you don't want to see that?"

"I do, but I want to break my fast first. Go find her. I'll join you later."

Gendry smirked and sauntered off. Arya started back for her room, rubbing the goosebumps away on her arms. She knew Sansa and Sandor were doing what they could to repair the drafty walls in the keep, but it would take longer than she would be there. Nearing the uneven stone steps, she heard a soft voice coming out of an open door.

_For you, there'll be no more crying,_  
><em>For you, the sun will be shining,<em>  
><em>And I feel that when I'm with you,<em>  
><em>It's alright, I know it's right<em>  
><em>To you, I'll give the world<em>  
><em>to you, I'll never be cold<em>  
><em>'Cause I feel that when I'm with you,<em>  
><em>It's alright, I know it's right.<em>  
><em>And the songbirds are singing,<em>  
><em>Like they know the score,<em>  
><em>And I love you, I love you, I love you,<em>  
><em>Like never before.<em>

Peering in, she saw Sansa sitting in a battered-looking chair, singing softly to herself as she worked on needlepoint. At her feet lay a long, lean dog with wiry grey hair. The beast looked weary and, Arya saw, was covered in old scars. His head rested on Sansa's foot and he gave a long, content sigh. She set the needlepoint aside and scratched the dog behind the ears. Sansa glanced up and didn't seem surprised in the least to see Arya. "It's a lullaby my Sweetrobin used to love."

Arya stepped into the room, curled up in the chair opposite Sansa and was glad for the small fire burning. "What happened? How did you get here?"

Sansa set her needlework aside, rubbed the dog's head one more time, and began to talk. She told Arya of witnessing Joff's death, her ill-fated escape with Ser Dontos, the massive charade with Littlefinger; of his and Sweetrobin's deaths at the hand of Gregor Clegane's men and her abduction and subsequent rescue.

_They were in King's Landing the same time we were._ Arya realized as Sansa droned on. _The Queen never mentioned either of them being there to Jaime or Brienne, and she had them married._  
>"What about Winterfell?" she broke in. "Bran, and Rickon-"<p>

Sansa nodded once. "Rickon is in Winterfell. He took it from the Boltons with a band of Wildlings." The word twisted her mouth as though it tasted sour. "There are Wildlings residing in our home now. And our baby brother put them there."

"Better Wildlings than Boltons." Arya grumbled.

"Rickon's half-wild himself now! He's spent more time with them than he did with our mother and father and he's forgotten."

Arya shook her head, confused. "How do you know this? He hadn't learned enough letters to spell his name when we left, much less write a letter."

"Before Father died, Theon and Robb killed a small group of them in the wood. One begged for mercy, and they gave it to her. Maester Luwin must've started teaching her her letters, or most of them at least. Her handwriting's abysmal though."  
><em>The world is coming apart at the seams, still, and Sansa nitpicks some half-learned Wildling's penmanship.<em> Arya's chest twitched in a concealed laugh. Some things about her sister really never would change.

"I don't suppose you can be arsed to travel north and tell them to leave, can you."

Sansa's eyes were clear, alarmingly bright and calm as she looked at Arya. "It's not my place to have Winterfell. It never was. It was always meant to be Robb's or Bran's but they're-" Sansa's voice choked and Arya looked away. It she saw the expanse of pain in her sister's eyes it would undo her and she refused to let that happen. After a minute Sansa cleared her throat delicately. "Even if Rickon did come into a Lordship it was supposed to happen years from now, after he'd been trained and educated and after he'd grown up." Silence fell again, broken only by a pop from a knot exploding in the fire, or a sleepy whimper from the dog at Sansa's feet. "Arya, it needs to be you."

The laugh that burst from Arya at this was harsh, hurt-sounding. "Me. You've actually grown stupider since I saw you last."

Sansa ignored the barb, picking up her needlework again. Arya glanced over and saw it was a small tapestry bearing three black dogs on yellow; the Clegane sigil. _It's hers now._ "Arya, you always wanted to be a lord and give orders to knights and such. Do you remember when you were little and you'd play with our brothers? You were always a knight or a lord and you'd make Bran or Rickon be the lady who needed saving." She glanced up again. "Close your mouth, Arya, you look like a failed fool. Go outside. I'll speak with Uncle Edmure about seeing you north.

Arya obeyed, stumbling out of the room a little numbly. Despite all the thoughts racing in her mind at the prospect of being the Lady of Winterfell, there was an underlying current, a tug that told her it was right, and it was what was meant to be. _Nothing's decided. Nothing's certain. You could be on a ship to Asshai within a week for all you know, not ruling over the North. _

Before she knew it, Arya found herself on a small portico overlooking the keep's muddy training yard. Three figures careened through the slushy mix, wielding swords and swinging at each other with an almost reckless abandon. Arya recognized Gendry's bull-head helm, but even if he'd worn another she'd have known him by the clumsy, slower method of fighting. The other two figures, while not quite matched in size, were more than equal in speed and strength. For a  
>brief moment Arya wanted to run down among them and spar, but when the broad side of Brienne's sword smacked ringingly into Gendry's head she changed her mind.<p>

She didn't hear Jaime approach; a flicker of movement to her right and there he was, a cup of mulled wine in his hand. He leaned against the railing and watched Gendry, Brienne, and Sandor continue to knock each other out of their wits and smiled. "No better way for them to wear themselves out."

"Why aren't you down there?" Arya asked.

Jaime's smile tightened a bit as he watched Brienne dodge a vicious blow. "It's bad enough having my own arse handed to me by a woman, even if it is one like that." He nodded towards Brienne. "Throwing myself among all three of them would be kin to watching gulls fight over a piece of bread." He drained his cup and set it aside. "I still can't quite wrap my head around your sister's choice of husband, but I suppose I should have seen it coming."

"How do you mean?"

"Stories would trickle out of King's Landing on occasion about how the boy King's trusted hound would look at your sister like she was a glass of water after a trek through Dorne. There must've been more truth to them than I realized. I don't know what he did to talk her into his bed, but it makes sense. After all," he grinned down at Arya, "what's a wolf but a wild dog?"

Arya bristled. Sansa may love Sandor, but Arya had vowed to never see him as a brother. " Then what's a lion but an overgrown house cat?"

Jaime laughed, the sound annoying Arya. "I wish your lord uncle would delay our trip a few months. I have to admit, I'm eager to see what sort of pup this pairing produces."

Arya's head cranked around. "You know?"

"Of course I know. Some women may as well wear a placard announcing the moment they conceive. Your sister is one of them." Jaime's smile faded somewhat. "Cersei was another."  
>"How could you kill her?" Arya asked after a moment. "She was your sister, your kin."<p>

"I know." Jaime replied, perhaps sharper than he intended. "I know who she is. Was. But sister or no, she was a danger to the Kingdom, and had been for years. Besides, if she had a say in it, she wouldn't want anyone but me to kill her. Anyway," he gazed down at the three figures. "what's done is done and I'm not about to look back."

Arya followed his gaze in time to see Brienne and Sandor rush Gendry and knock the boy some feet along the muddy ground. Brienne pulled off her helmet and offered Gendry a hand up. Her cheeks were flushed, straw-colored hair mussed and plastered to her forehead with sweat. She was laughing and glanced up toward where Jaime stood. Jaime's smile seemed to soften a hair as, after a minute, Brienne turned her attention back to a mud-covered Gendry.

Arya rolled her eyes.

_A/N Of course Fleetwood Mac exists in a medieval slightly fantasy-based setting like Westeros. Fleetwood Mac exists everywhere and at all times. When the first couple crawled up from the primordial ooze and had their first spat over whose turn it was to cook dinner, the first song one of them put repeat on to feel better was _Go Your Own Way_. It is known. And on I wander.  
><em>_Songbird lyrics © EMI Music Publishing, Universal Music Publishing Group_

_Songwriters: Gorelick, Kenny. Lyrics by C. McVie__  
><em>


	14. Chapter 14

"You, the Lady of Winterfell?" Gendry tried to hide his laugh behind a cough and failed. Arya punched his shoulder to get him to shut up. "When did you cook up this wretched little scheme?"

"I didn't!" Arya exclaimed. She and Gendry were plodding through the snow towards the kennels. It reached Gendry's knees, and hit mid-thigh on Arya. "Sansa did, apparently. She told me a few days ago." Arya struggled through a particularly high drift and Gendry took her arm to keep her from falling.

"You want a ride?" He smirked, his blue eyes bright against the winter's white and grey. "You'd better just hop on. Otherwise it'll take us till spring to get to the kennels."

Arya grinned and hopped on Gendry's back, looping her arms loosely around his neck. "Onward, dray horse!"

Gendry craned his head around to give her a mock-angry look as he tucked his arms under her knees. "Keep up with that and I'll dray you right into the manure pile."

Arya pointed towards the kennels. "Dray faster. It's cold out here."

The kennels were surprisingly warm when Gendry ducked through the doorway. Once Arya's eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw a long row of stalls on either side of a center aisle. The dogs within looked to be in surprisingly good condition, with bright eyes and full coats. Towards the center of the building a brazier was glowing. At the far end, a short flight of stairs led to a closed door.

"Now then." Gendry straightened and Arya slid off his back. "Are you just going to march right up the Kingsroad, pound on the door, and demand the Wildlings vacate the winter town and your brother boost himself out of the lord's chair?"

"No." Arya glowered. "I don't know what I'd do. I told you, it's Sansa's stupid idea."

Gendry wandered over to the dogs, petting a particularly large one on the head. "It's not so stupid." He looked at her, a curious expression on his face. "You could do it, I think. And well, at that."

"I don't have the first idea how to, though. I'd need an army, or at least someone other than me." Arya held her hands over the brazier's warmth.

"I'd go with you." With a final pat, Gendry moved next to her. Arya looked up at him, expecting the same sardonic look he usually wore, but this time his face was gravely serious, lit in the glow from the coals. After a long moment Arya stepped away from the brazier. It was getting too hot.  
>"What would you do, chase them out with your blacksmith anvil?" She tried to keep her tone light, but it sounded high-pitched and nervous.<p>

Gendry straightened, still gazing down at her. "I'd do whatever you'd ask of me." He took a step closer to her. "Would you have me?"

Arya's throat had gone bone-dry and a funny heat spread through her stomach. In all honestly, being buried up to her neck in the snows outside sounded better than being in this increasingly smaller, increasingly hotter kennel. She took a step back and swallowed hard. "If you bring a couple hundred of your closest, best-trained friends."

Gendry blinked and the moment, whatever it had been, passed. He shrugged, leaning against the post between two kennels. "Anyone I could call a friend I've turned my back on when I ran from the Brotherhood without Banners."

"Why'd you leave them?" Arya asked.

"They were getting out of control. Well, Lady Stoneheart was out of control straight out the gate." He glanced down at Arya again. "Sorry."

"No," Arya said softly. "Don't be. That wasn't my mother, anyway." She pushed away from the wall and headed for the door. "And I don't want to talk about her anymore, Gendry." She pulled the door open, stepping back into the snow. "Ever."

* * *

><p>Arya wandered the drafty halls that night, turning the day over in her head. The strange intensity in Gendry's eyes and voice, the warm flutter in her belly followed by the aching crush at the mention of her mother. She had held away the image of her mother's desiccated body so far, and wasn't about to let the thought take root.<p>

"Arya." She glanced behind her and saw Jaime striding down the hall. "I wouldn't go much further down that way if I were you." He put his hand on her shoulder and guided her back the way she came. "There are either wailing ghosts in this keep or your sister is greatly enjoying being a married woman." Jaime laughed at Arya's expression. "Come along, I was just about to soundly defeat Brienne at cevasse. Have you ever played?"

"No." Arya had seen the game played before in Braavos and beyond, but had never learned. She nodded at Brienne, who gave a small smile as Jaime sat down opposite her. Arya listened as they described the game, moving pieces here and there.  
>"It's all strategy, you see." Jaime said some time later, sweeping hair out of his eyes and seeming almost bored. "And as soon as I'm done beating my wench here, I'll show you how to play." While he spoke, Brienne's gaze flicked to Arya with a small grin as she moved one piece. Jaime glanced at the board and swallowed. "Right. Well. As I said, she'll show you how to play."<p>

Arya chewed on her lower lip. "What if...what if you wanted to take back a keep, but it's already held by someone else who could maybe have a claim to it, and they have a sort of army but they aren't fit to rule?"

Brienne's grin grew. "Your uncle's been talking to you too, has he?"

"I-he may've-"

"Don't think for a minute Edmure'll be able to unseat your brother himself, if that's what you're on about." Jaime lounged back in his chair. "I'm amazed that man is able to strategize his way off his wife in the morning without getting someone killed." Brienne shot him a look. "Oh, don't look at me like that. You've only not said it yourself because you think he's pretty."

Brienne ignored Jaime and turned to Arya. "You are the eldest surviving Stark, and have the stronger claim but Jaime's right - it won't be as easy as your uncle thinks. You'll have to give Rickon's Wildlings incentive to leave, and something beyond safe passage back to Skagos."  
>"What could the Skagosi possibly want? They've made their own path for as long as history remembers." Arya fiddled with the sleeve of her tunic. "I can't even remember seeing them come to Winterfell."<p>

"What about land?" Jaime said suddenly.

"They have land. They have a whole island." Brienne pointed out.

"They have an island that is remote and hard to get to. Give them Queenscrown. It's abandoned, isn't it?"

Arya nodded. "And half-broken down."

Jaime shrugged. "Let them rebuild it if they want. If you can get their loyalty, it'll be good to have something between the Wall and that Umber keep. It'll be good to have anything between the Wall and the rest of the North, come to think of it. Maybe another wall."

Arya chewed on her lip until she tasted blood. Jaime's idea made sense, but she'd die before she admitted that to him.

* * *

><p><em>AN - Short tonight, but I'm working on something else that'll be up in a bit (read: not tonight). Also, no. I do not know how to play cevasse and I am more than fine with that. From what I gather it's a mix of chess, Chinese checkers, Hungry Hungry Hippo, and Uno Moo. Point being, if I am looking for any nitty-gritty details about Westerosi life I know where to look for it. That all aside, thank you to my own personal Vic for helping me bash through a few walls. I really could not do this without you._


End file.
